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Thursday, August 1, 2013

Excerpt from "Last Turn"

Last Turn

By William G. Muir

The door to the Last Turn tavern opened. The neon sign above
the door offered just enough light to let those who paid any bit of
attention know that the individual was probably a man, and definitely
shorter than average. All doubt about the mysterious person's gender
were laid to rest once they stepped across the threshold. The lights
that hung above the pool table, which sat just to the right of the
door, cleared up any question of gender to those who had been
watching as the man made his way from the door to the pay phone.

No one ever paid attention at the Last Turn.

The short man who was making his way to the pay phone had started to
lose his hair at far too young of an age, it had recently started to
go prematurely gray as well. This unfortunate combination had gone a
long way to making him appear to be twenty years older than he
actually was. The strange limp he had recently acquired wasn't doing
anything to dissuade people from thinking he wasn't a young and vital
young man. Not that he was, yet he wasn't as decrepit as his
appearance made him out to be. At least not yet anyways.

He reached out his right hand and lifted the receiver from its
cradle. Just as quickly as he had taken the phone's receiver into his
hands, just before he could lift it up to his ear, he slammed it back
down. He then lifted the receiver back into the air and slammed it
back down several more times. He then let the receiver drop from his
hand and fall to the floor. Before turning to leave he kicked the
stool that sat beneath the pay phone.

This outburst failed to turn any heads away from their drinks, or
whatever else that held the customer's interest.

Having failed at his attempt to make a phone call, the short bald
man made his way over to the bar. After covering the few feet from
the out of order pay phone to the bar, the man then climbed up on the
stools, that sat at the bend in the bar. He motioned to get the
bartenders attention. It was moments like these that he wished he was
at least 5'6” or even taller. All his life he had to live in this
world that was designed for taller men than himself. It made his life
a daily hassle, he just wanted to know one time what it was like to
sit on a bar stool without having to climb up it.

Before he could continue to contemplate what life would like if he
was taller and he had full head of long blonde hair the bar tender
placed a glass down in front of him. She then filled it with a single
malt scotch whiskey and smiled at him.

It had been a long time since a woman had smiled at him. He took the
glass in his hand, tilled it towards her and then lifted it to his
lips. But before he took a sip he paused, then put the glass down on
the bar.

“Why scotch?” he asked the bartender.

“Pardon me?” the bartender asked in response to his question.

“Why did you pour me this scotch,” he asked again. “I hadn't
order anything, yet you poured me a scotch.”

The bartender began to chuckle, she placed her hand to her mouth so
that she could regain her composure. “You really are silly, Ben.
You always order a scotch.”

“How do you know my name?”

“You come in here every Thursday, sit in that spot, and have a
scotch.”

Nothing about this night had seemed right to Ben. Now he was sitting
here in this tavern he had never even laid eyes on before. He wasn't
even sure if Louisville had a place called the Last Turn. It
sure as heck couldn't be a new place, word would have gotten around
if it was. And what was he doing on this part of Seventh Street
anyways. No one ever had a legitimate business in this neighborhood.
It was nothing but strip clubs, adult book stores and sleazy bars.
This was not the part of town a respectable gentleman, as himself,
should be seen in.

This was the last place he expected to be tonight. He had been
spending a quiet evening at home playing World of Warcraft
when he received a mysterious call from a familiar voice. His brother
Robert had been involved in some sort of ordeal. Ben wasn't sure what
all had happened, Robert sounded as if he was several feet away from
the phone as he was trying to explain what was going on. The sound of
a woman screaming could be heard in the back ground along with what
sounded like a child crying. It could have also been someone
chanting. It wasn't clear enough for him to make out.

What did come across as clear as crystal was the last voice he
heard. It sent chills down his spine to think back on that voice. It
was so deep, so menacing, so other worldly. Ben could only image that
this was what Satan voice sounded like. Whoever it was on the other
end of that call had clear instruction for him. If he ever wished to
see his brother alive again, he would have to follow the instruction
he found programed into his GPS.

That was how he ended up outside the Last Turn tavern. He had
been following the GPS when his car broke down. Even though this was
the sleazier end of the city, it was also the least populated. It had
been about two or three miles since he had seen any other
establishments, he was beginning to think he was on the outskirts of
the city.

He reached into his pocket to get his cell phone. He tried to look
up the numbers for a tow truck, but he wasn't getting a signal. He
decided he needed to get out of the car, it had to be the metal frame
that was blocking any signal. He was sure that was the reason. As Ben
stepped out of the car and started searching for a signal, that was
when he first notice he was outside the Last Turn.

His phone fell from his hand and was smashed to pieces as it struck
the ground.

“That can't...you must have me confused with someone else. I have
never stepped foot in here before tonight.” He said.

The bartender put her hand over his and once again smiled at him.
“That is what you say every time you come in here.”

“No!” Ben said forcefully. “No! I have never even heard of
this place. I'm not even sure I am still in Louisville.”

He very well could have passed beyond the city limits. He had been
paying close attention to where he was being told to go. While he was
studying the GPS he could have very well driven out of the city. The
last time he knew for sure that he was in the city was when he was in
the heart of downtown. It was hard not to notice the bright lights
shining in his car from every angle. But he had left those lights
behind several miles back. He was now out where the street were
almost as black as the starless night itself.

“Look sweetie, you seem like a nice enough fellow. So tonight I am
going cut this bit short. Hopefully. Your name is Ben Lawrence, you
come in here every Thursday night. You sit in that spot and I pour
you a single malt scotch. Most nights you drink it, your face gets
scrunched up and then you sip it out. That is when I ask you isthere is a problem. You then tell me your car has
broken down and that you need to use my phone. You say it a matter
of life and death. When I tell you that the phone doesn't work
you leave.”

Ben couldn't believe what he had just heard. He lifted his right
hand to his mouth. He just looked hard at the woman, she had just
told him things she couldn't have known. “Who are you, and why
would you tell me any of this.”

The bartender reached bellow the bar and pulled out a glass. She
then picked up a towel and began to polish the inside. “Me? I'm
just your friendly bartender. As for why I told you this, you asked
me why.”

“So let me get this straight, I come in here every Thursday and I
do all that stuff you just said. Yet I had never asked you why
before.”

“Honey, you like most people go through life never questioning
what is happening around you. That is how you ended up here. That is
why you always end up here. On this night you missed something.”

Ben looked down at the glass of scotch that sat on the bar. His left
hand was still wrap around the glass. All he could think of was why
had he come into this tavern in the first place? He told himself that
it was to use the phone. But how could he have known there would have
been a pay phone in here. In this age when most people had cell
phone, the pay phone had become an endangered species. Even if one
was lucky enough to find one the likelihood of it actually working
was almost zero.

And good luck trying to get any business to allow you to use their
phone. Unless you walked in carrying your own head they would smile
at you and in the politest way possible tell you to go fuck
yourself.

He had not come in here to use the phone. At least that was not the
subconscious reason Ben had walked into the Last Turn.

“I don't drink,” was all that Ben could mumble to himself.

“Pardon me dear,” the bartender put down the glass she had been
polishing and picked up another.

“Nothing, it's not important. How much do I owe you for the
drink,” he slid down from the bar stool and reached into the pocket
of his jacket.

As he pulled out his wallet and was about to open it so he could pay
for the drink he never touched, the bartender grabbed his hand. “Look
around and tell me what you see?”

Ben looked up, “What are you talking about? If I look around I
know what I will see.

“Are you sure?” The bartender asked in an urgent manner.

“Yes, just a bunch of miserable sods trying to drown their
sorrows.” Ben tried to pull his arm out of the bartenders grip.
This just caused her to dig her black finger nails into his arm
deeper. If it wasn't for the sleeve of his jacket, Ben was sure she
would have broken the skin.

“Then look.”

This is pointless. Ben knew that there were people in the
tavern when he had walked in. He had almost tripped over a guy passed
out on the floor when he was making his way to the pay phone. But
seeing how he would like to get his arm back sometime tonight, and
not have it and his jacket sleeve shredded by the bartenders nails,
he decide to indulge her. It was the least you could do for an insane
person.

“Fine,” Ben said as he quickly turned his head to scan the
barroom and then looked back at the bartender. “Are you hap...”

Not exactly sure what he just saw, Ben once more looked back into
the room. This can't be right...
All he could do was just stare. He dared not even blink, if he did he
was sure what he was witnessing would disappear. “That's not
possible.”

“And what is that?'

Ben turned back too look at the bartender. A look of disbelief had
now taken over his face. “It's empty. The whole place is empty.
That just cannot be.”

“And why is that?”

“There were people in here when I walked in.”

“Really?”

“When
I came in here most of these tables were full. Over there, at the
pool table, was like this middle aged biker guy and what appeared to
a girl way to young for him. She might have still been a teenager.
There was even a guy sitting next to me at the bar.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean I am sure about that,” Ben was beginning to
feel indignant. He wasn't sure what exactly was going here, but he
didn't like it. Not one bit. He couldn't help but feel like he was
being made a fool of. “I know what I saw, and what I saw was a
barroom full of people.”

The bartender put down her towel, moved the glass of single malt
scotch whiskey out of the way and leaned on her elbow. “Is that
what you know, or is that what you believe?”

“What do you mean is that what I know or is that what I believe?”
At that moment an image from his childhood flashed into his mind.
“You make as much sense as the Dungeon Master.” Ben wasn't sure
why he thought of the diminutive character from a cartoon he use to
watch on Saturday mornings. He just knew that it fit.

“I would have thought Yoda would have been a more apt comparison.
But Dungeon Master will work just as well.”'

“Why is that?”

“Haven't you figured it out yet?”

“Figured what out?”

“It is my job to help people like you see the truth.”

“What truth?”

“About the world they live in.”

With that the bartender walked into the backroom.

Ben looked around the room one more time. He was sure there had been
people in it before. How could he have been so wrong? There had been
a man sitting right next to him. He could recall every last detail of
the man as if he was currently looking at him. He was a rather large
man, one who hadn't missed a meal in some time. It was kind of hard
to tell when someone is sitting, but Ben was sure he was a tall man
as well. Something that he always envied and despised in other men.
The man also had what appeared to be a full thick head of hair.
Somewhat odd in a man who was well into his middle age.

As Ben scanned the room his eye did not detect one living soul in
the room. How could this be?

There
was one thing he knew for certain, he wasn't going to remain in this
tavern one second longer. What had the bartender told him, that every
time he came into the Last
Turn
he ended up storming out. As far as he was concerned it was past time
for him to exit this place. He was sure that the bartender had
drugged him in someway or hypnotized him. She had done something to
mess with his mind. He wasn't going to stick around and let her take
further advantage of him.

In
one quick fluid motion he made it from the bar to the door. It was
almost as if someone had blinked at the right moment and missed
seeing him move. None of this was registering in his might. Strange
things were happening in the Last
Turn
and Ben no longer wanted to be part of them. The sooner he was
through this door and out of here the better.

There was a gas station not too far from here. It was probably
closed by now, but the pumps stayed open for customers that paid with
plastic. He was sure that someone would have a cell they would let
him use.

He grabbed for the handle of the door but it was not there. He knew
that he saw it. His vision had been focused on it while he was
walking over from the bar. But when he reached out to hold of the
handle so he could open the door, it was not there. All he felt was
air. Ben looked down just to prove to himself he had not gone crazy.
And there it was. Once more he tried to take it in his grip, but all
he got was a handful of air, just like before.

Whatever. He wanted out and there was nothing in this tavern
that was going to stop him. He would tear this place down with his
bare hands if he had to. He was getting out of the Last Turn
and that's all there was to it.

If the door handle wasn't going to cooperate with him, then he would
have to push the door open some other way. He placed the palm of his
hands against the door and began to push against it. It just stayed
in place. Their was no give in it what so ever. He pushed even hard,
but it would not budge. Finally he dipped his right shoulder and put
all his weight into it. Nothing!

Maybe I need to pull on the door
to open it. How do I do that if I cannot grab hold of the handle?
Ben began searching the door for some kind of handhold. If he could
just get some purchase, just maybe he could pull the door open with
some brute force. He examined the door, he even looked along the edge
of the door in hopes that he could find some space to he could fit
his fingers into.

As he started to feel along the edge of the door he discovered
something extremely important. There was no door. At least not
standing in front of him anyways. The door he had come in, and he
sure this was it because he hadn't seen any others, wasn't there.
Sure it looked like it was there, but it wasn't. He knew this because
there was no seam between where the door should have been and where
the wall began.

What was there appeared to be a door that had been painted onto the
wall. As he pulled his hands away they were covered in red paint.